to the you with dark eyes
by blueasjazz
Summary: And the us that was never meant to be. — queen!cousland/nathaniel howe.


**to the you with dark eyes**

- and the us that was never meant to be.

**fandom. **dragon age.  
**pairing. **queen!cousland/nathaniel howe.  
**notes. **a rivalmance of sorts between f!cousland and everyone's favorite howe, peppered liberally with headcanons of unrequited love switcheroos.

**. . .**

The Queen-Commander, Nathaniel thinks, is a force of nature; clad in dragonscale armor and tempestuous eyes.

Behind bars of iron, he refuses to believe her; he _resents_ her, from the moment recognition passes her face and sets them back to days amidst castle-walls and forest-glens when hunting hounds were pacing at their heels, their respective brothers and fathers sharing a laugh over the largest game they had ever caught yet.

Stolen glances over the hearth, and indignantly quiet blushes when her family teases her about him over dinner, his father bristling and discreetly offering Thomas in his stead. This is what he remembers, and this is what he wants to forget.

_elissa_, his mind says, but what comes out of his mouth are venomous words and the steady beating of the truth: _i have nothing else, i came here for revenge, for justice, for death_.

She looks at him and suddenly he is freed and a Grey Warden, fully armed and dangerous as he follows her throughout the lands that had been his home; lands that his family has ruled over for so long, that _he _could've ruled over as the eldest scion of Howe. But that name means nothing these days, Nathaniel thinks bitterly. Nothing but slander and dishonor and his livelihood plucked straight out of his hands by this girl he thought he knew - this girl no-longer that had morphed into his commander, his queen and sovereign; this young woman with a steady, stoic voice and hands stained by the blood of his father.

_you never truly knew me_, she protests without words; when they come to rest in the Keep and everyone else is asleep. He evades with a discontented harrumph while she becomes awash in faint torchlight, like in those days before his Kirkwall and her Blight and she was merely a teryn's too-young daughter infatuated with an arl's eldest son. He tells her: _i knew you enough_.

_justice_, his mind echoes, and so he finds it ironically fitting that she happens upon the very spirit of Justice in their journeys through the haunted Blackmarsh. The spirit is a true soldier, practically a paladin in nature, clad in ever-changing armor and wielding a blade that sings like lyrium as it cuts through everything in its wake. The wicked Baroness falls over dead and the Fade flips straight into the mortal world, carrying Justice with it. The spirit inhabits the corpse of a gallant Grey Warden not out of his own volition, but marvel overrides his indignation every time he takes a step in this new, never-changing nature. He finds wonder, he finds purpose.

The cantankerously pretty Dalish they meet later clamors for justice, as well; for a sister snatched away from her and an exile imposed by those she considered closest. Her rage is channeled in a much more belligerent, Fade-powered manner; her righteous fury is one made of hard earth and forest vines. Her wrath is directed at merchant caravans and bandits before switching to darkspawn as Elissa soothes her with reasonable words and purposeful tokens - _make your own stories, velanna_. Nathaniel is finds himself drawn to the elf-woman because he finds her refreshing - highly antagonistic and a deadly sort exuberant, but very gullible and easy to irritate. The fact that her hair is the same shade Elissa used to have when she was a glowering, moody teenager had nothing to do with it, he tells himself. Nothing at all.

Oghren acts like a drunken uncle capable of cleaving darkspawn in two without breaking a sweat; all loud off-key singing and lewd comments at barmaids and popping blisters Anders suspects are probably gaining sentience. But his stubby, hairy fingers still wobble as he clutches desperately at a quill, Elissa at his side offering generous corrections - from spelling and grammar to general structure of wording, until his letters to his wife and soon-to-be-born child are permissibly legible and not peppered liberally with expletives. Oghren's gratitude is undoubtedly heartfelt and he says so as his face turns as red as his beard, smelling of ale and roast meat and friendship, before passing out at Elissa's feet.

Sigrun is sweet, almost unhealthily so; and is oddly cheerful for one who is supposedly dead for a ducat. Her liveliness is infectious, but her energy at maintaining it is not, and Elissa never ceases to find things for her that increase her appetite for the surface and all their trinkets and oddities and curiosity; _do you and that howe archer-man have a thing going on_? The smile Elissa smiles says nothing and everything at once, a flimsy shield against a wave of emotion that seems to crash at the mere mention of him, her, _them_. _i...must be mistaken_? Sigrun backpedals once Anders elbows her, offering a prompt apology and choosing to instead gush over her wondrous new spyglass and towers of books.

But it is _Anders_ that Nathaniel dislikes most of all; envious in his realization that _that could've been me, too_.

Ostensibly the first of Elissa's ally, bar Oghren; her first soldier in every sense of the word, and by proxy, the one closest to her and the one she cares for the most. The younger mage flirts with her endlessly, cheery and coy and unabashedly forward; saying suggestive things about his mage robes in between proclaiming his love for fuzzy scarves and cooing over his ridiculously-named pet cat. To her credit, Elissa's responses are indulgent and not at all serious, and Anders knows this, but he is always too quick to heal his commander, having no qualms about touching her and holding her hand while claiming various excuses. Nathaniel's suspicions are cemented as he witnesses the mage's eyes glaze over as Elissa stands in the middle of knocked out Templars, weapon in hand and graceful composure exuding from every pore. _howe,_ he says, jokingly-blank and as open-mouthed as a young, smitten schoolboy._ i think i'm in love_.

The dark-haired archer watches his commander, a figure that shaped a part of his childhood and now his adulthood. Her unexpected mercy and stoic brand of compassion is what colors her in his mind's eye, bringing distant blurs of memories about a starry-eyed girl with sugar-sweet hair in the height of infatuation. He remembers, and he doesn't want to forget. He scoffs at Anders' quip but silently thinks _that could've been me, too_.

Elissa's eyes are steely like her father's as she looks over to him, the Mother writhing and gasping out bloody, dying breaths as enchanted blades stab her neck and elemental arrows pierce through her heart. Splattered with blood and gore and innards, Elissa gives him a smile that says nothing and everything at once, a dissonant serenity as sharp as daggers, a fractured picture of a quintessential lady, a leader, a queen. _you never truly knew me_.

She prepares to leave (_return_) to Ferelden's capital into the awaiting arms of the King; but she travels to the slowly-rebuilding Amaranthine City with Nathaniel until the time comes for them to then part ways. Nathaniel feels something within him vanish at the sight of her steed, the silence of summer cicadas and quiet gestures of long-friends but nothing more. She looks at him and he remembers that he has been freed in more ways than one.

_i loved you, once, _her breath tells him; it pierces like an arrow aimed straight at his heart and sets them back to days when they were just a teryn's too-young daughter and an arl's eldest son. They are awash in sunlight and honest emotions never meant to be, in a backdrop of bustling markets and faint glimmers of hope, justice, wonder, purpose.

But her hands are washed clean of his father's blood, and in turn, he is washed clean of his need for vengeance and solitude. A wedding band is on her finger and a royal diadem is upon the crown of her head, while he is clad in light, well-crafted armor with an ancestral bow strapped to his back. Nathaniel breathes and attempts a smile - it is bittersweet and scented with the smell of wanderlust and lost loves. Heartbreak is really not something he could afford, but he allows himself a moment before he sails for the Free Marches, and she rides for Denerim. The déjà vu is unmistakable, but really, it's better this way.

_i always knew you enough_.


End file.
